Twenty-six others escaped in the same way on that day, which witnessed
the most dreadful deed ever done on the soil of North America, but
nearly four hundred were murdered in obedience to the letter sent by
Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna. Fannin and Ward, themselves, were shot
through the head, and their bodies were thrown into the common heap of
the slain.
Ned did not see any of the other fugitives among the trees. He may have
passed them, but his brain was still on fire, and he beheld nothing but
that terrible scene behind him, the falling recruits, the fire and the
smoke and the charging horsemen. He could scarcely believe that it was
real. The supreme power would not permit such things. Already the Alamo
had lighted a fire in his soul, and Goliad now turned it into a roaring
flame. He hated Urrea, who had rejoiced in it, and he hated Santa Anna
who, he dimly felt, had been responsible for this massacre. Every
element in his being was turned for the time into passion and hatred. As
he wandered on, he murmured unintelligible but angry words through his
burning lips.
He knew nothing about the passage of time, but after many hours he
realized that it was night, and that he had come to the banks of a
river.
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